


Those Insufferable Dreams

by Irony_Rocks



Series: Soulmarks [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Deleted Scene, F/M, PWP, Sex Dreams, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 03:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30065883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irony_Rocks/pseuds/Irony_Rocks
Summary: Deleted scene from my soulmate mark AU, "like the way you burn." PWP.God help her, Peggy Carter was not a woman of insubstantial conviction or control, but it must be equally acknowledged that Steve Rogers was not a man of insubstantial appearance or appeal.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Soulmarks [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800769
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	Those Insufferable Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a random deleted scene from "like the way you burn," the first fic in the my Soulmate AU series, where Peggy and Steve share a soulmark that allows Peggy the benefits of Steve's serum. I'm not entirely happy with this, as it was a deleted scene for a reason, but there was interest in seeing it posted. Set up during Chapter 2, when Peggy is still mad at Steve for outing their bond to the military, even though he did it so he could give her a lifesaving blood transfusion. This leads to a PWP scenario, as follow:

Exhaustion and irritation were winning out, and it was making Peggy’s mood all the more sour for it. It had been a tense few days since coming home from the hospital, and even with the benefits of the soulbond and Steve’s advanced healing, Peggy felt maddened every time her wound hindered any bit of her movement or recovery. She wanted back out there in the field, not trapped in this absurd one-bedroom apartment with Steve as her singular flatmate and companion. It was ridiculous, to be wasting resources like Captain America too, but he was as stubborn as ever, refusing to leave her side while she recuperated. If she wasn’t so angry with him, she might have found the trait endearing.

As it was, she was still angry. Still angry at Steve for telling the military about their soulmark, even if he had done it in the midst of her bleeding out and desperately needing a blood transfusion from him. She was still enraged that she had been sat like a potted plant in this flat, to rest and recover. And she was still furious that the world would soon find out Captain America had a soulbond, and for the rest of her life, she would be known as nothing more than an extension of his legacy. 

Still, there were times when she was reminded, in unexpected or even overwhelming ways, that he _was_ her soulmate, and she couldn’t ignore it even if she tried her damndest. The attraction to him and the attention of him seemed to always be one level below the surface, just underneath her skin. She could feel it flare up throughout the day at sometimes the most random and inopportune moments, like seeing him first thing upon waking, sleep rumpled and groggy, or when he’d spend hours of his now abundance of free time sketching in his notebook, with Peggy having the distinct impression his sketches were filled with pages and pages of her. She never verified this, not by asking him and certainly not by looking through his things. But he kept glancing up at her for long moments, too long, while he sketched, for her to ignore the obvious implications. 

Then there were the moments that took her by storm, the not-so-innocent or gentle moments, when she was confronted with the fact that her attraction to him was not just some biological or spiritual matter, but one that was as visceral and real as anything she could put her hands on. Like when he would walk out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel, hair wet from the shower, muscles glistening and announcing themselves to the world worthy of a salute. God help her, Peggy Carter was not a woman of insubstantial conviction or control, but it must be equally acknowledged that Steve Rogers was not a man of insubstantial appearance or appeal. 

The only bathroom in the flat was through their modest little bedroom, which Peggy had overtaken entirely; Steve’s things were set up in the living room, a suitcase with a humble number of clothes, and a sofa that provided just the bare minimum accommodations for him to sleep. Their bathroom was so small that both of them wouldn’t fit in at the same time, but simply _having_ a bathroom within the flat was a luxury in itself. Peggy wasn’t going to complain. The quarters that the army had provided them, usually meant for married officers, was an extravagance, especially in times of war.

But it made for tight quarters, and with Steve, it made things… _difficult_. He was, as always, accommodating and respectful. He’d carefully looked the other way and said not a word when she’d had to wash and dry her unmentionables in the bathroom sink. He’d never breached the doorway of her bedroom without knocking politely and loudly first, and usually only then when he had to use the connecting bathroom. He never crossed any lines of propriety, not just because he’d be met with Peggy’s ongoing temper, but because that was just who Steve was. Considerate and accommodating, even when things were awkward. Even in her anger, she could acknowledge those qualities, and many others, that were damningly attractive.

Which made for moments when she couldn’t deny that her feelings for him were growing, far beyond her control. She had every right to be upset with him. She had every right to give him the cold shoulder and the glare. She had every right, but that didn’t stop her from noticing the hard lines of his body, the healthy expanse of muscles on his chest and arms. Dear lord, he had a body, and it was only healthy for her to notice. It certainly didn’t stop her from watching him walk away, eyes falling to his pert derriere. He was a gorgeous man, but it was mostly the hundred and one _little_ things he did throughout the day, that distracted her unexpectedly. The way he would earnestly make tea for her, even if it was abysmal. The way he always made room for her on the sofa, even if she preferred the settee across from it. The way he would clean up after himself, and offer to cook, and hold her gaze anytime she spoke as if he was always hanging off every word she said. She’d had men pretend to listen all her life, usually with ulterior motives. With Steve, she knew he genuinely _listened_. And cared. And wanted the best for her, even when she was being cross with him.

It also didn’t go unnoticed that that his eyes would follow her keenly throughout the apartment, either. She wore nothing revealing, of course – but her nightgowns tended to be slim, and even her peignoirs cut a flattering figure. If Peggy took some extra time to get ready every morning, applying a careful solicitation of lipstick and mascara – well, no one needed to be the wiser. But she felt her skin heat up when she felt his gaze on her, and it had nothing to do with her overactive imagination. It was that bloody soulbond acting up. Every time they were in close proximity, she could feel every hair on her arms stand on end. She could practically feel his attention drilling into her, even with her back to him. They had touched, of course, which was the problem. That little escapade in Poland had released the floodgates, and even if they hadn’t slept together, their soulmark was finding ways to reinforce and reinvigorate their bond whenever it could. The slightest touch was _maddening._

And then there were the dreams.

Those insufferable dreams.

Initially, she was mortified. But surely it was not unexpected, to be having _those_ types of intense dreams after being put in this ridiculous situation. She was a woman with a healthy history of romantic entanglements, and Peggy Carter had never been shy or timid. But the dreams. _Dear Lord._ It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and it took her a few days to realize why. They weren’t just dreams, or not just _her_ dreams anyway. She was fairly sure the dreams were _theirs._

The bloody soulbond.

Initially she had no proof, of course. Steve was always polite in the morning, but after one particularly vivid dream of her legs locked around his shoulders, his face buried between her thighs – she had noticed that he had not been able to maintain eye contact with her whatsoever the following breakfast. He had stammered through any hint of a conversation and had blushed so prettily red at nothing at all. If Peggy hadn’t been fighting her own embarrassment, she might not have made the connection. But it was obvious that he was embarrassed about something. He had practically fled for his morning run, and only returned hours later, drenched with perspiration, the type that was only earned after running a ridiculous length for him.

Two nights after that, she had her proof.

The dream wasn’t particularly inventive. It was still dark, only the moonlight to brighten their bedroom. And it seemed perfectly normal that Steve was asleep behind her, rather than on the living room sofa. She had forgotten all too easily any complications that rested between them. All she knew, all she felt was Steve behind her, shifting against her as he stretched sleepily. Their legs were entangled with one another, his arm thrown over her waist, his breath warming the back of her neck – and his erection was pressed firmly against her backside.

Peggy’s body throbbed, her back pressing against him instinctively before she could stop herself – or even to think _why_ should stop herself. Restraint was not a desire. But even as she stretched, opening her eyes and indulging in her body's reaction, Steve was already awake, pulling her closer with a groggy hum of approval in her ear, his hips eagerly pushing against hers in reply. His hand snuck up to palm her breast, only pleasant, only _wanted_ , his fingers deftly giving her breast a squeeze. Her hand reached back blindly to find him, palms sliding lower, down his strong stomach, then lower still. And she found him, hard and ready, when she eagerly wrapped her fingers around him and stroked. She felt more than heard his breath catch and release.

It wasn’t even a few seconds before she felt his hand slope downwards between her own legs, to shift between her curls and find her wet arousal. "Jesus, Peggy," he moaned against her neck as he probed deeper with his fingers.

They barely had to move to come together – just a slight shift, her nightgown lifted higher, respective underwear pushed aside. Then his arms wound around her, settling at the nexus of her thighs as she repositioned herself carefully. He pushed into her from behind, slowly at first, bodies pressed skin-to-skin, his thrusts and rhythm setting itself in a languid pace. He was leaning back – buried in her all at once and then easing back out, her body trembling around him as she moaned his name.

But, as wonderful as he felt inside her, the position – that unhurried rocking against each other – mostly ended up assisting mutual frustration rather than relief. With bitter disappointment, Steve pulled out, rolling away behind her. She peered over her shoulder at him in the darkness, her body sorely protesting the distance. But he was flat on his back, spread out rather brazenly and shamelessly; between that and the look on his face, there was no question about the fact that he wasn't done with her yet. He tipped his head, nodding for her to scoot closer, giving her arm a small encouraging tug at the same time, and then she was crawling over him. 

She sunk down on him slowly, relishing the feel of him inside her again, but this time more fully. She rocked her hips against his and Steve’s breath hitched and broke off with a strangled moan. Any pretense of teasing was gone. She set a pleasurable pace almost immediately, only a primitive and innate desire to feel him and the groans she elicited from him.

Halfway through, it was all sensation and instincts. The scrap of his two-day grown stubble against her skin made her shudder and moan. One of the straps slid off her shoulders and Steve’s fingers hooked under the material and gradually tugged it down past her sternum, exposing her breasts, her nipples hardening against the splash of cool air. He dragged his mouth across her pulse beat and then made his way down her chest, his tongue and lips dancing over the swell of her breast before taking the weight of it into his mouth. She curved like a bow into his touch, his tongue flickering out and toying with her nipple as Peggy released involuntary little whimpers and—

And then she was waking.

Awake, breathless and aching, a full room away from Steve. Heart pounding and sweat pooling at her collar, Peggy tugged uncomfortably at her nightgown and willed her body to calm down. But it was caught so agonizingly close to the edge. 

Across the flat, she heard Steve shifting in the living room. It was a small noise, barely perceptible, but Peggy had heard it because it was another growing benefit to their mutual bond. She was acquiring his heightened senses, slowly but surely.

It wasn’t thinking, when she slipped off the bed. There was no good motivation for when she stepped lightly to door, easing it open a fraction so that she could peer into the darkened living room. The window was wide open, providing the only light in the flat with a long cast of moonlight. Steve was laid out flat on the sofa, his lengthy muscular body looking ridiculously cramped on the sofa – but it was the hard line of tension in his build that Peggy picked up. She breathed heavily, watching as his face screwed up in frustration, only all too recognizable – and then his hand was moving underneath the covers of his blanket. Distinguishable, well-known movements, up and down beneath the cover, as easy to discern in the darkness as if she was sitting right next to him.

Peggy bit back a moan, pressing her legs together, feeling heat pool between her thighs. It was unbecoming, perhaps, for her to be witnessing this, and if not for their shared dream, Peggy might have turned away. Rather, instead, she watched as if she had some right. The truth was, she couldn’t have stopped herself even if she’d tried. She couldn’t have budged from that doorway as Steve got himself off, not for anything in the world. 

And she felt it, through the bond too. It wasn’t just her overactive imagination. She felt his pleasure rise and rise, a heat building in her own body. She saw his hands move faster in anticipation of his release. She heard his breathing pick up, and she could picture it in her head – exactly what he was fantasizing. A continuation for their dream. Her, on top, moving steadily with purpose, then rather recklessly the closer he came to his climax.

He came, and she felt that too.

Afterwards, her body throbbed, but Steve’s breathing was evening out, the tension in his body relaxing all at once. She shut the door with an audible click, and then winced. She knew he’d heard that. She knew he was aware of everything she had just witnessed.

She expected his response – shame, mortification perhaps, maybe even anger at her. She had expected it over the soulbond. She was picking up more and more of Steve’s emotions every day, and it wasn’t hard to discern his feelings from hers. But the expected repercussions never came. Instead, over the bond she felt the same languid feeling he felt, a rather envious predicament in comparison to her own.

She went back to her bed, laying out, wide-awake and aroused. 

If her hands slipped underneath the waistband of her underwear, it was only natural. If her fingers moved, imagining his, no one could blame her. If she was open and receptive to the idea of the door opening from the other side, she would never voice it or deny it. But she could imagine Steve in here, with her – and she wondered if it was only her imagination. Or if it was his, too. 

But when she finally peaked, it was almost disappointing, nothing at all like the maddening release she had been chasing in her dream. But she heard – and felt – Steve’s hard exhale, not far from her. She could almost close her eyes and picture him, on the other side of that door. This wasn’t what she’d wanted, but it _was_ a release.

It was something.

For now.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, if you really want to read them actually get it on, just read any other story in this series. Or any other Steve/Peggy fic I've written. 😂


End file.
